


SCAN COMPLETE

by fiordilatte



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: Gen, Hiro in various levels of pain, Random medical facts!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-16 10:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3484910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiordilatte/pseuds/fiordilatte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baymax records logs of all of Hiro’s treatments.  Hiro is annoyed as hell.  Baymax POV!  Partly inspired by Hiro’s Journal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SCAN COMPLETE

**Author's Note:**

> I’m really bummed by the fact that Hiro and Baymax weren't at Disneyland so I thought I'd finish this to drown my angst :P Disneyland was still awesome, though, I’m not that much of a brat haha!

**[ONE]**  
**:D**

“On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?”

My patient is Hiro Hamada: fourteen years old, five foot zero, blood type AB. He is very skilled in the robotics field, but does not seem to prioritize his own physical well being.

I am Baymax, Hiro’s personal healthcare companion. I am here to assist him.

Hiro scowls at me, and my sensors adjust to translate his expression. Puberty is unpredictable. Despite Tadashi’s excellent coding, it is very difficult for me to gauge emotions.

Facial expressions are not verbal explanations, so I repeat the question. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?”

Hiro sighs. This is concerning.

“Hiro,” I say, because he is not answering me. “On a scale -”

“Look, dude. I just - rocket boots kinda overshot my predictions, all right? And then I _may_ have bashed my head into the ceiling? I don’t know. I’m fine.” He rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe my calculation was off. Way too many propulsions. Didn’t exactly need that many thrusters.”

My scan does not indicate that he is fine. He has not sustained any serious injuries, but he seems very frustrated.

Diagnosis: Bruised ego.  
Treatment: Fistbump. I have observed that this is very effective.

Hiro smiles, touching his fist to mine. “Yep, you’re still the sickest bot.”

It is just an expression.

 

**[TWO]**  
**C:**

Hiro and I are flying. He has equipped me with a police siren and, as he has informed me, he is going to ‘make things right with Tadashi, one neighbourhood at a time.’ I have not yet verified what this means, but it is my job to ensure his safety regardless.

“All right!” Hiro shouts. “You suckers are all under arrest!” He smiles widely and we fly into one of the alleys of downtown San Fransokyo. It is populated by several people and their tiny robots - Hiro refers to them as ‘bot fighters.’

One of the bot fighters looks up at us. He seems to recognize Hiro. “Aren’t you that kid who hustled all those fights last summer? What do you think you’re doing here?” This man is taller and larger than my patient, and appears to be quite aggravated. I would not typically suggest engaging in an argument.

“I’m arresting you for illegal gambling,” Hiro proclaims. “And also for really bad bot design, but that’s not the point. Seriously though, did you learn nothing after getting destroyed last year? I mean, uh, Baymax! Do the thing.”

This is my cue. “Yes, Hiro.” I switch the siren on, and it fills the alley with its high-pitched wail.

The rest of our team, the Big Hero 6 - GoGo, Honey, Wasabi, and Fred - begin the process of apprehending the bot fight participants, while Hiro and I wave down the police from our aerial position.

“Oh no,” I say, as the thrusters in my armour start to run out of fuel.

“What? Dude, not this again!”

First we are completely frozen, midair. Now we are falling.

I do my best to shield Hiro from the impact, but I am not fast enough to make it one-hundred percent injury free.

“Ow!”

Diagnosis: Scraped ankles.  
Treatment: Neomycin and bacitracin.

“Hiro, please revise your battle outfit for future excursions, so that your ankles are not exposed.”

He picks at his bandages, and I automatically prepare more antibiotic spray in my fingertips. “But that just wouldn’t look as cool.”

 

**[THREE]**  
**:)**

“No. Nononono. You’ve got to be kidding me. Mochi, you suck!”

My internal cameras focus themselves, and I see Hiro banging his head against the wall. I reach out to pull him away before he gets a serious concussion.

I detect a small level of panic in his voice. “This is at least a level three medical crisis, Baymax. That was my favourite poster. The greatest mecha versus kaiju fight in history. And now it’s ruined.”

He says a few words under his breath that I have been programmed to censor.

My patient is holding a robot poster in his hands. From what I can see, it has been torn in half by his cat, Mochi. I do not understand why this would cause Hiro physical pain, but I would like to help him in the best way that I can.

Diagnosis: Torn poster - although I cannot compute how this is a medical emergency.  
Treatment: TAPE.

I offer Hiro the tape dispenser that I borrowed from the police station. Tape is my favourite invention. I am unable to experience human emotions, but tape is very interesting to me. I would like to incorporate it into as many things as possible.

“Yes!” He smiles, and smooths the poster down on the floor. “Guess you kind of forget that tape exists when you mostly use solder to stick stuff together. Oh man, you’re the best. I am super satisfied with my care.”

 

**[FOUR]**  
**:}**

“Oww… Oh God _why_.”

“Hello Hiro, on a scale - ”

“Um, uh, four! Yeah. Four.” Hiro rubs his eyes, causing possible corneal abrasions. “Just walked into a computer. And then I tripped. I’m really tired, plus I’m starving.”

“Scan complete. Yes, your glucose levels are abnormally low. This is an effect of a poor diet and overexertion. Symptoms include blurring vision and a loss of concentration.”

Hiro takes a seat and presses his forehead into the desk. “No kidding,” he mumbles, pushing his fingers through his thick hair. “My head seriously hurts.”

“This is because you have been working nonstop for several days. Please remember to take breaks and to eat at regular intervals.”

“But I don’t have time! Invention’s not gonna build itself, you know. And the deadline is tomorrow. Apparently they don’t hand out government grants without expecting me to give back to society. Which is so lame.” He sits up and squints his eyes at me. “So what’s the deal?”

Diagnosis: Hypoglycemia (mild).  
Treatment: Gummy bears.

Hiro frowns, but takes the bag from me. “What kind of medical treatment is this supposed to be? Are you messing with me, Baymax?”

I shake my head slowly from side to side. “No, I am not ‘messing with you.’ You must replenish your blood sugar levels by eating carbohydrates. My database says that gummy bears are your favourite source of sugar.”

He tears the packaging open and crams a handful of the candy into his mouth. “Yes, yes they are.”

 

**[FIVE]**  
**:]**

“Yes, nailed it!” Hiro pumps his fist into the air and leans back in his seat. “Finally got this project done! Time to celebrate with that box of chocolate from... ah, whoever that government dude was.” He kicks off from his worktable and rolls his chair over to the desk that he has dedicated entirely to candy.

“Hiro, wait,” I begin to say, as I scan the box for potential threats, but he ignores me and bites into the first chocolate he sees.

A moment later, he starts to make choking sounds. “Seriously?” he yells, throwing the rest of the box across the room.

Hiro has broken out in hives. Red welts are spreading across his skin, and his breathing has been reduced slightly, resulting in less than ideal airflow.

“B-Baymax,” he wheezes, “can I get some help here?”

Diagnosis: Peanut allergy - urticaria and slightly reduced airflow.  
Treatment: Antihistamines.

I hand Hiro a glass of water, along with a prescription antihistamine pill.

“Thanks,” he says, swallowing the medicine and rolling his eyes. Hiro wrinkles his nose. “I am never eating chocolate again, it always tries to murder me.”

I believe that he is exaggerating.

 

**[SIX]**  
**:|**

“The, ugh, the moderately sad face, okay?”

Hiro is pointing calmly at number six as blood spurts down his chin.

“I don’t think I did that quite right,” he says, gesturing with a shaving razor. I take it away from him before he can inflict more damage to himself.

“What happened, Hiro?” I ask. I am not entirely certain how he came to the conclusion that he needed to do this.

He stares at the wall. “I tried shaving. I’m nearly fifteen, shouldn’t this be, like, a thing now? Don’t I get to grow a beard and stuff?”

His lack of knowledge in the field of biology becomes very clear to me in these situations.

Diagnosis: Shaving cuts (not enough puberty).  
Treatment: Astringent.

“No, that freaking stings!” Hiro yelps, pushing me away as I begin to administer the treatment.

“It is the only way, Hiro.”

 

**[SEVEN]**  
**:[**

My cameras and scanner have been broken, and I am unable to perform any of my analyses. My function as a health care companion has been impaired completely.

“Hey, buddy.” I hear Hiro’s voice, but it is very distorted and far away. My auditory receptors seem to be malfunctioning, and most of my processing cores are no longer operational.

Hiro says something else, but I cannot decipher the words. In my current state, I am simply a programming chip inside a broken robot skeleton. I cannot move autonomously or provide any medical insight.

We have just gotten home from our patrol as San Fransokyo’s vigilante team. Although I have ensured everyone’s safety, I have gotten severely damaged along the way. However, as long as my patient is unharmed, then my purpose has been fulfilled.

“Baymax.” His voice is very small. "I’m gonna fix you up, all right? I’ll never let you turn into junk parts.”

Diagnosis: Low battery and structural damage.  
Treatment: Supercapacitors and armour upgrades (Baymax 3.0).

“Should have done this a long time ago,” Hiro says. We fistbump briefly. “Now we're really gonna kick some ass!”

I have noticed that Hiro has also removed my profanity censor with this new upgrade. I do not think that this was necessary.

 

**[EIGHT]**  
**:(**

“Hiro.”

“Yeah?”

My patient is currently building a new robot in his lab at the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology. He has not eaten anything other than candy for the past forty-eight hours. It is not plausible that a human can sustain himself on candy and soda for an extended period of time.

“I have observed that your daily food intake is extremely unhealthy,” I inform him.

He laughs. (I do not understand why this would be funny.) “Whatever you say, buddy.” Hiro continues to draft schematics on his computer. His fingers move across the keyboard rapidly, and he recites complex formulas to himself that are beyond the capacity of my coding.

“Will you be taking a break to eat?” I show Hiro a picture of the customized nutrition guide that I created for him. “Recommended meal plans consist of - ”

“It’s fine,” Hiro says, “we’ll fly back home when I finish this up, and then you can lecture me about food pyramids for an hour, okay?”

“You are not in a state to be flying, Hiro,” I reply, and I see his eyebrows slant down to a severe angle. “I have informed Aunt Cass, and she will be picking you up in half an hour.”

“What the hell, Baymax!” There is an edge to his voice. “I am so reprogramming you.”

Diagnosis: Malnutrition.  
Treatment: Aunt Cass (note - I must remind her that doughnuts are not ‘real food’ to ensure that this is effective).

 

**[NINE]**  
** >:(**

“Jesus Christ! Hiro, are you okay?!” Aunt Cass yells. “Baymax, can you get over here?”

I make my way down the stairs from Hiro’s room, and perform a scan of my patient.

“Damn it,” Hiro says, holding his wrist under the water tap in the kitchen. The skin is red and a deep blister is forming on the epidermal layer. It is probably quite painful for him, but will be fairly simple to treat.

Aunt Cass takes an agitated bite out of her doughnut. “He was building some new barista robot, because he just had to make things more efficient, even though it was already fine the way it was!”

I nod. This would explain the puddles of coffee on the floor.

Diagnosis: Second degree burn, partial thickness.  
Treatment: This should heal on its own, so I will just wrap the injury for now.

“See, this is what happens when you decide to build a bunch of coffee making robots instead of just doing it yourself. God, you’re a smart kid but you drive me crazy.” Aunt Cass glances over at me and gestures with her mop. “Right, Baymax?”

“I swear it just needs a few tweaks and we’ll be good to go!” Hiro replies, as I bandage his hand. “Just let me give it a few more test runs. Please?”

Aunt Cass folds her arms over her chest. “No.”

 

**[TEN]**  
**D: <**

I am activated by a cry of distress.

“Hello, Hiro. I was alerted to your pain when you said, ‘shit!’ I do not think this word should be in your vocabulary, as it does not suit our nonthreatening aesthetic. Please delete it.”

He glares at me. I think it is a glare. (It is the opposite of a smile.)

“Baymax,” he hisses.

I nod, to show that I am listening. “Yes, Hiro?”

“I think this might be a ten.” He attempts to make what I believe is an obscene gesture with his hands, but winces and falls on his side. “Son of a…”

I assess the room to fully understand the situation. I walk over to my patient, performing a full scan as I get closer. There is a broken yellow motorcycle on the lab floor, and some parts have been scattered across the lab room.

“Please do not try to move. Are you able to explain what happened?”

“Well, I think I really broke something this time.” He chuckles weakly. “Was doing some test mods as a favour to GoGo, and I thought I’d give her bike a quick spin. I can do all the math in my head, but real life is a different story. Next thing I know, everything hurts and I can barely move.”

Diagnosis: Broken clavicle.  
Treatment: Bed rest and a sling.

“This is stupid, Baymax.” Hiro frowns at me from under the bedcovers. “I want to build bots, not lie around all day!”

“There, there,” I tell him.

 

**[ELEVEN]**  
**(ノಠ益ಠ)ノ**

“Bug off!”

“There are no insects in our immediate vicinity,” I respond. “Would you like me to ask Aunt Cass for insecticide anyway?”

“Go away,” Hiro groans. “I need to be alone. I’m satis -”

I am not certain that my shutting down would be in Hiro’s best interests, so I interrupt him. “I detect emotional distress. Is everything all right?”

“Yes! Sort of. Maybe. I just… well, I just really, really miss Tadashi,” says Hiro. His voice is shaking as he stares at the photo in his hands. “Today’s the anniversary of the - of the fire.”

I put a hand on his shoulder, as gently as I can. “It is okay to cry.”

Hiro jerks away. “I don’t want to cry, Baymax. And I know I can’t bring him back, and I think about him all the time, but for some reason it just hurts even more today.” He takes a deep breath, turning to face the wall, and curls into a fetal position on his bed. “I can’t handle feeling like this. I wish he was back here with us.”

Diagnosis: Heartache.  
Treatment: Hugs.

“Hiro, I will always be here to give you the proper treatment.” I will hold him for as long as is necessary to stabilize his emotional levels. My patient needs to understand that I am here for him.

He wraps his arms around me tighter, almost as if to squeeze the air out of me, and I pat him on the head. “Yeah, I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Some of these actually took a fair amount of research (thank goodness I have a nurse AND a dietitian in my family) so I’m glad it’s finally up :D
> 
> re: hypoglycemia, I just wanted an excuse to use gummy bears as legitimately effective medical treatment. Hiro is not diabetic, he just has extremely unhealthy eating habits due to being so absorbed in his work that he forgets to take care of himself. He’s also fourteen and brazen and thinks he’s invincible. It’s Baymax’s goal to get that sorted out asap!


End file.
